The Fairy calmly smiled
In comfort, and a kindling gleam of hope
Suffused the Spirit’s lineaments. 25
’Oh! rest thee tranquil; chase those fearful doubts,
Which ne’er could rack an everlasting soul,
That sees the chains which bind it to its doom. 
Yes! crime and misery are in yonder earth,
Falsehood, mistake, and lust; 30
But the eternal world
Contains at once the evil and the cure. 
Some eminent in virtue shall start up,
Even in perversest time: 
The truths of their pure lips, that never die, 35
Shall bind the scorpion falsehood with a wreath
Of ever-living flame,
Until the monster sting itself to death.

’How sweet a scene will earth become! 
Of purest spirits a pure dwelling-place, 40
Symphonious with the planetary spheres;
When man, with changeless Nature coalescing,
Will undertake regeneration’s work,
When its ungenial poles no longer point
To the red and baleful sun 45
That faintly twinkles there.

’Spirit! on yonder earth,
Falsehood now triumphs; deadly power
Has fixed its seal upon the lip of truth! 
Madness and misery are there! 50
The happiest is most wretched!  Yet confide,
Until pure health-drops, from the cup of joy,
Fall like a dew of balm upon the world. 
Now, to the scene I show, in silence turn,
And read the blood-stained charter of all woe, 55
Which Nature soon, with re-creating hand,
Will blot in mercy from the book of earth. 
How bold the flight of Passion’s wandering wing,
How swift the step of Reason’s firmer tread,
How calm and sweet the victories of life, 60
How terrorless the triumph of the grave! 
How powerless were the mightiest monarch’s arm,
Vain his loud threat, and impotent his frown! 
How ludicrous the priest’s dogmatic roar! 
The weight of his exterminating curse 65
How light! and his affected charity,
To suit the pressure of the changing times,
What palpable deceit!—­but for thy aid,
Religion! but for thee, prolific fiend,
Who peoplest earth with demons, Hell with men, 70
And Heaven with slaves!

’Thou taintest all thou look’st upon!—­the stars,
Which on thy cradle beamed so brightly sweet,
Were gods to the distempered playfulness
Of thy untutored infancy:  the trees, 75
The grass, the clouds, the mountains, and the sea,
All living things that walk, swim, creep, or fly,
Were gods:  the sun had homage, and the moon
Her worshipper.  Then thou becam’st, a boy,
More daring in thy frenzies:  every shape,